


Darkness closing in

by grimmfairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Depressed Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, No Sex, Or not, Referneced death of a minor, Sherlock Needs A Hug, only johnlock if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:44:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmfairy/pseuds/grimmfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on tumblr by http://mrshudsontookmyskull.tumblr.com/.<br/>"All I need in this life is John trying to comfort Sherlock after a case gone horribly hideously wrong."</p><p>John had searched all of his hiding places. Of course he had.</p><p>Most days, Sherlock would have gotten a certain measure of satisfaction from managing to hide his stash so effectively from John.</p><p>Of course, most days Sherlock wasn't hiding anything harder than a few cigarettes. Most days, Sherlock wasn't hiding heroine, a syringe, and a length of rubber tubing from his flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness closing in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AStudyInAlgedonics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStudyInAlgedonics/gifts), [WhimsicalEthnographies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/gifts).



_Silence reigned at 221B Baker Street._

That was the first warning sign.

_The kitchen area was clean. Not a single experiment or severed body part to be seen._

That was the second warning sign.

John sat silently in his chair staring at the empty black leather seat that was before him.

_A thin layer of dust was beginning to settle over it, coating the supple material with it' hateful presence._

The third warning sign.

All of the warnings were there. They were staring John in the face.

He had searched all of Sherlock's regular hiding places, and every other place he could think of, every day since _it_ had happened.

Since the day that Sherlock had failed.

* * *

John had searched all of his hiding places. Of course he had.

Most days, Sherlock would have gotten a certain measure of satisfaction from managing to hide his stash so effectively from John.

Of course, most days Sherlock wasn't hiding anything harder than a few cigarettes. Most days, Sherlock wasn't hiding heroine, a syringe, and a length of rubber tubing from his flatmate.

Flatmate.

Friend.

Partner.

Everything.

There for his greatest moments.

And his greatest failure.

_"Beg me not to."_

_"I have never begged anyone for anything," Sherlock's deep baritone said nonchalantly. The crazed man held the gun tighter against his stepson's head. The twelve year old boy looked at him with huge, pleading eyes. He wanted Sherlock to help him.  
_

_Sherlock had only taken this boring bank robber case because he owed Lestrade a favor for saving John's life the month before. It had seemed open and shut. Go into the house, confront the man, get the confession. Should have taken all of twenty minutes tops._

_Then the suspect had grabbed his stepson and held a gun to his head, scared and desperate to get away._

_John was two minutes away, summoned by Sherlock's hasty text._

_Wait for me, John had texted him. Sherlock hadn't wanted to wait._

_"I'm not going to prison," The man whispered. Sherlock knew at this moment that he had miscalculated. He reached out, knowing he was already too late. Too slow.  
_

_Two shots._

_Two sprays of blood on his face._

_Two bodies at his feet._

_"I'm fine," He told John as he stormed away._

_Sherlock didn't turn the lights on when he arrived back in his room. He didn't want to see himself anymore._

_He didn't want to see the blood as it swirled in the water from the cold shower he had taken fully clothed._

Sherlock was roused out of his repeating flashback by a quiet knocking on his locked door.

"Sherlock?" John's quiet voice was muffled by the wood separating them.

Sherlock stayed in his darkness. The darkness seemed like it was seeping into his pores, choking off his arteries, clouding his vision. It was suffocating him.

"I know you can hear me in there. And I know what you're thinking about doing. I know that you think it will make it go away."

The darkness was closing in. Sherlock ran his fingers over the familiar items on the bed, clenching his fingers tightly around the syringe. He didn't need light to do this. He had done it before.

"You want to forget. I know you do." John paused again. Sherlock felt his heartbeat in his ears, pounding.

Sherlock couldn't breathe. He wanted to stay here forever, alone and in the dark. It was where he belonged, what he deserved.

He had never wanted to be held so much before in his life.

"I should tell you not to do this. That it won't solve anything and that if you don't open this door, I will break it down and flush that shit down that drain," John would be drawing in a shaky breath now, Sherlock knew. Steadying himself, squaring his shoulders like a soldier preparing for battle.

Sherlock waited for the inevitable pep-talk. That it wasn't his fault. That he shouldn't blame himself.

"But I won't."

That made Sherlock turn.

"Because deep down, you already know everything that I could ever say to you. I'm not going to pretend that I know how you feel. I wasn't there. But I know you. And...and I miss you." John would be leaning his forehead against the door. "Please."

And then John was walking away.

The darkness was heavier than ever.

* * *

John was making tea because...why not? He had taken some time off work so he could be there just in case. Sherlock needed him, even if he didn't quite realize it.

He knew Sherlock was there the moment he stepped into the kitchen. John didn't turn around from the kettle though. Sherlock stood there quietly, waiting.

"Tea?" John asked quietly, turning around. Sherlock's eyes were puffy and blinking from the lack of light for so long. Sherlock nodded, looking lost and scared. He held his hand out to John like a guilty child that was caught with something they knew they shouldn't have.

"I need you to...to..." Sherlock looked imploringly at John. John just nodded and took offered paraphernalia. Sherlock watched him leave the room and finished making the tea as the water sang in the kettle. He didn't need to watch John to know what he was doing.

He offered John a mug of tea when he returned. John carefully set it down.

Sherlock didn't remember wrapping his arms around the shorter man, so it was possible that John initiated the embrace. Sherlock couldn't find the energy to care.

"I'm not fine," He whispered. "I said I was, but I'm not. And I don't...I want to be fine."

John just stroked Sherlock's hair softly.

"It's alright," John answered. "You don't have to pretend for me. You don't always have to be fine. "

The darkness was right there, hovering over Sherlock as he tried to get as close to John as possible. It was trying to close in on him like a mavolent demon, held back only by the warm glow that was John Watson.

"And when you don't feel fine, I'll be here," John finished.

Sherlock nodded into John's shoulder where he had laid his head.

"Your tea is getting cold," Sherlock mumbled.

"That's alright," John replied with the smallest of smiles.

Sherlock felt like he could breathe again. The darkness was still there, hanging over him like a storm waiting to happen. Someday it would break, and Sherlock would be swept away again.

But John would be there.

He wasn't alone.


End file.
